


Fractals

by velvetcadence



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Character Death, Choose Your Own Adventure, Emma Frost as Lady Death, Family Feels, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Hospitals, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Offscreen Violence, Poor Charles, Poor Erik, Rehabilitation, Sad Ending, offscreen child death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 05:33:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1970841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetcadence/pseuds/velvetcadence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles has led a fairly good life with his husband Erik, but a bullet to the brain on the way home threatens to tear them apart. Lady Death is already reaching out to him, and he can either stay or go. What will <i>you</i> choose?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two Choices

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ikeracity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/gifts).



> For the prompt: Imagine Person A of your OTP is in the hospital after being assaulted, and the doctors tell Person B they aren’t expected to make it through the night.
> 
> Some people preferred Charles dead and the others wanted a miracle. No reason why I can't cater to both sides of the room, right? 
> 
> The formatting is inspired by Choose Your Own Adventure books. **It's best if you read this at a chapter by chapter view.**
> 
> Dedicated to Ike, who wanted fluff but prompted a death fic omfg Ikeracity are you forreal! (ily u weirdo)

There’s a hazy quality to the world when Charles wakes up. It’s like everything with sharp lines and sharp corners has blurred around the edges, the colors muted into a grayscale effect. There’s a lady in blinding white filing her nails in the chair at the corner. Charles frowns and sits up, although the moment he does so a ripping sensation rends at the skin of his back like he’s fallen asleep on something sticky.

He turns quickly, and with abject horror finds his own face lying back on the bed, stitched and taped together like a ragged doll. Half of his head is shaved and bandaged. A line of medical tape over the seam of his mouth keeps a breathing tube in.

“Morning, sugar,” the lady says, “Took you a while.”

“W-What happened? Where am I?”

She sighs as if she’s answered these questions a million times before and they’re rote by now. “You got mugged on the way home. You’re in the hospital now. And you’re about to die in,” she makes a show of daintily looking at her wristwatch, “six minutes and six seconds.”

“That’s not right,” Charles murmurs disbelievingly. “I have a lecture tomorrow.”

The lady smiles at him, her pale eyes twinkling. “Hon, I don’t think any of that matters anymore.”

“But my husband!”

“He’s right next to you.”

Charles’ breath catches, and he turns once more, noticing at last Erik’s dear sleeping face. He’s propped up uncomfortably on a chair and holding Charles’ corporeal hand. Even through Charles’ blurry vision he can see how haggard Erik looks. Charles reaches out to touch his cheek and finds that his own hand passes through Erik’s body.

“Is this the afterlife?”

“Not quite yet. Somewhere in between.” She reaches out her hand. “Come. It’s time to go.”

* * *

 

Choose:

> [Let me say goodbye first.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1970841/chapters/4265409)

> [Let me live!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1970841/chapters/4270791)


	2. Goodbye

**> Let me say goodbye first.**

* * *

 

“Why? It’s not as if it’ll change you dying.”

Charles’ heart hurts, thinking of leaving Erik alone by himself. “Perhaps not, but I’d like to speak to my husband again one last time. It would give me closure.”

“With that thing down your throat?”

“Erik will understand,” Charles firmly says, but his face is crumbling. “Please.”

The lady sighs. “Oh, alright. I don’t see why not. Clock’s ticking. Go.” Then she pushes him down back into his broken body and a world of pain.

—

Broken ribs. Punctured lung. Severe head trauma. The doctors have a language for Charles’ injuries that are all their own, but it’s the least Erik can glean off the medical report.

Charles. God. If only Erik hadn’t cancelled on their date, Charles’ wouldn’t have had to walk home alone. And then he wouldn’t have been mugged within the span of the three streets that separated their dinner venue and Charles’ apartment.

It seemed so unjust and so cruel to have this happen, and to Charles of all people. Charles was the kindest, most giving man Erik had ever met. Hell, if the mugger asked for his wallet politely, Charles would have bought him dinner and tried to talk him out of his unlawful actions. Charles would have done his best to understand, the same way Charles understood Erik at his worst and made him coffee anyway, every day at six in the morning just so he’d be a little less murderous at the office.

They had operated on him the whole night, but the doctors said he might not make it 'til morning. Now there is nothing to do but wait it out. Erik bows his head by Charles’ cot and prays as he hasn’t in the longest time, seeking absolution and forgiveness. He doesn’t sleep a wink. Instead, he tells Charles about his day, reminisces about their life together, low and tremulous, and hopes that Charles can hear him.

At four in the morning, Charles wakes up, clinging to life with all his being. It shouldn’t be possible, with the medicine they’ve injected him with to put him under. He should…he should pass peacefully, in his sleep, if he should die now. Erik can’t stomach the thought, but he’d want Charles to be as comfortable as he can be. Now he’s awake, and there’s a pained, panicked look in his eyes, and Erik’ heart hurts.

"Shhhh, it’s okay, you’re okay now," Erik says, and he’s tearing up before he knows it. Charles can’t speak with the breathing tube in his mouth, and his body is still so weak only his fingers twitch in Erik’s grip. He’s trying to say something with his eyes, though. Years of being together has Erik attuned to Charles’ every facial expression, and what he finds there makes it hard to breathe.

Charles is saying goodbye.

"I love you," Erik says, "I love you, I love you," he has to struggle past the lump in his throat, because deep down he knows that this is the end, "And if you need to go now, I’ll be okay. I’ll miss you, but I’ll be okay." It’s what Charles would want to hear, even if Erik doesn’t believe it himself.

Charles gives him a softer gaze, takes one more breath. His fingers squeeze at Erik’s hand, and before Erik can blink, he lets go.

—

“Will he truly find peace?” Charles asks as he reemerges into the muted world where the woman dressed in white reigns supreme.

“I don’t know, sugar, you tell me. Death is easily defined, but Life? Not so.”

She offers her hand again. Charles hesitates, looking back at his weeping spouse. He hovers his fingers over Erik’s temple where his hair has started to turn gray. It would have been wonderful to have years more see it all turn gray.

“It will take him months,” Charles says. “Maybe even a few years. My Erik is stubborn, and grief consumes him. I don’t think he’s even fully recovered from David’s death.”

“Speaking of your son,” she smiles, lifting her cape to reveal a little boy clinging to her thigh, “he’s here to fetch you.”

“Oh, my boy,” Charles whispers as he finally swings his legs over the hospital bed—it’s like needles on his skin when he separates from his mortal coil, but it is all forgotten when David jumps into his arms, his bald little head smooth under Charles’ hand and his body warm.

“I missed you, Daddy,” David says. Charles can’t help himself from hugging him tighter and weeping.

“I missed you too, darling.”

“We really must go now,” the lady gently prods.

Still, Charles looks back longingly.

“We can visit Papa any time,” David says, wrapping his small hand around the one Erik had squeezed so tightly with his desperation. “Don’t cry, Daddy.”

“Okay,” Charles says, wiping at his tears. “Okay.”

Death opens her hand to him once again. With David's hand in his, Charles reaches out and takes it.

* * *

 

>[Proceed to epilogue](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1970841/chapters/4266804) 


	3. Epilogue 1

>Epilogue

* * *

 

Erik’s bones creak as he seats himself on the patch of grass between Charles and David’s graves. The sun is setting, streaking orange across the sky. It always was David’s favorite color.

He places the bouquet he’s brought on top of Charles’ grave. Dahlias to symbolize strength and enduring grace, forget-me-nots because he still remembers Charles over his morning cup, over the apple pie he always gets at Moira's, and in the way half of the bed retains the dip of Charles’ weight.

He’s found that time has taken away the ache of loss and replaced it with the sweetness of fond memory. Twenty-odd years is enough to settle into a weathered serenity.

For David, he’s brought one of the toy trucks he had been working on in his spare time. If he were still alive right now, he'd be of an age with his Erik's nephew. Kurt is getting married this year, and Erik can’t believe how fast the time has flown. Soon he’ll be making babies of his own now too.

“Raven and Irene says the Caribbean is sparkling this year,” he tells them both. “I think they’ll be back next week. I was imagining what it would be like to bring you to a second honeymoon, Charles, on a cruise like that. And then I remembered how badly you burned on our first in Cuba,” he chuckles to himself. “David would have fared no better, considering he got his poor English skin from you.”

He draws out a picture from his wallet with slightly aching hands. The cold has been seeping into his bones more and more each year. He wishes Charles were still there to keep them warm.

“I miss you two very much,” he sighs, gazing at the photo of David right before another round of chemo and Charles sitting beside him, head completely shaved in solidarity. “But I’ve been doing alright. In fact, I think I'm going to ask that very nice woman I was telling you about to marry me. Magda's family has been very good to me, and the kids have been dropping hints left and right to finally make it official. I love her too, and I want you both to know I'm happy and healthy as can be.”

The wind shifts, very gently upon his cheek. Erik sits back and watches the sun as it sinks into the horizon with a wistful feeling in his heart.

* * *

  

>[Restart](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1970841/chapters/4265358)


	4. A Bargain With Death

**> Let me live!**

* * *

 

“I’m sorry, but Erik needs me. I can’t leave him.”

She looks at him pityingly even as she smoothes down the front of her white robe. “‘Til death do you part, honey. It’s time to go.”

“No, wait. Please, tell me what I can do. I can’t die now, I need to live!”

“It isn’t anything I haven’t heard before.”

“I’ve lead a good life and I’m doing good things. My research is going to change the world.”

“And your son?”

“David?” Charles asks, heart in his throat. “What about him?”

She lifts her cape and unveils a boy with his eyes and his freckles, undoubtedly his child. He looks perfect, the little gap between his teeth unchanged as he smiles.

“Daddy!” David exclaims, waving his hand.

“David!”

The lady in white puts her hand on his son’s shoulder, stopping him from running up to Charles. “Not yet, pet.”

“No, let him come. Please.”

“It’s either one or the other, Charles. If you choose to come with me, you can be with David. If you don’t,” she tilts her head towards Erik’s sleeping form, “well, you get to be with your husband, although chances are you probably won’t ever wake up from your coma. And if you _do_ wake up, it will be to a life filled with pain.”

Charles swallows, reaching out to place his hand on Erik’s even though he can’t feel him. “I’ve never known a life without pain. But where there’s life, there’s hope. And if there’s a chance, I’ll fight for it.”

The Lady Death regards him with her pale eyes. There’s something preternaturally beautiful about her, but it’s a beauty that’s altogether too nordic and icy. Charles tries to look resolute, but his gaze is forever drawn towards his son. If this is a dream, it’s a very cruel one. David would have been eleven by now.

“It seems your daddy wants to stay, poppet. You’ll have to wait a little longer,” she addresses David, and to Charles’ astonishment, she’s patting the bare skin of his head like she’s fond of him.

He looks so disappointed. Charles’ soul aches.

“I have to stay and take care of your papa, Davy,” he says, throat tight, “he’s so very bad at being alone.”

“It’s okay, Daddy,” David says. “I’m always visiting anyway.”

“I love you, son.”

Death steps closer and pushes at his shoulder. Charles lets her lead him back into a lying position and closes his eyes into a comatose void.

—

Broken ribs. Punctured lung. Traumatic brain injury. The doctors have a language for Charles’ injuries that are all their own, but it’s the least Erik can glean off the medical report.

Charles. God. If only Erik hadn’t cancelled on their date, Charles’ wouldn’t have had to walk home alone. And then he wouldn’t have been mugged within the span of the three streets that separated their dinner venue and their apartment.

It seemed so unjust and so cruel to have this happen, and to Charles of all people. Charles was the kindest, most giving man Erik had ever met. Hell, if the mugger asked for his wallet politely, Charles would have bought him dinner and tried to talk him out of his unlawful actions. Charles would have done his best to understand, the same way Charles understood Erik at his worst and made him coffee anyway, every day at six in the morning just so he’d be a little less murderous at the office.

They had operated on him the whole night, but the doctors said he might not make it ‘til morning. Now there is nothing to do but wait it out. Erik bows his head by Charles’ cot and prays as he hasn’t in the longest time, seeking absolution and forgiveness. He doesn’t sleep a wink. Instead, he tells Charles about his day, reminisces about their life together, low and tremulous, and hopes that Charles can hear him.

Erik cries with relief when Charles survives the night, and for the first two weeks, he visits every day, keeping vigil at his bedside.

Raven and Irene visit just as frequently, and Charles’ students and fellow professors have gone so far as to deliver flowers to the hospital. Since the ICU has a policy against it, it’s redirected to their personal address instead. It just goes to show how much of an impact Charles has had at the uni, if this many people care. Erik feels like the apartment is drowning in flowers and well wishes.

By the end of the second month, Erik has buried himself in work and has limited his visits to the weekends, but he spends them in the hospital in full. From morning to evening he’ll stay at Charles’ bedside and keep him company, sometimes talking, sometimes not. If he’s in a particular good mood he’ll read The Once and Future King until his voice has gone raspy. Usually though, he’s in a suspended state of hope, which is starting to wane when Charles doesn’t wake up.

By the fourth month, Charles has begun opening his eyes, although they’re glassy. He doesn’t seem responsive at all. They scan his brain and against all odds, the prospects are looking good. He’s actually recovering. Erik can see the color of activity in the functional MRI scans and can’t help but break down. Charles’ brain responds beautifully to the sound.

By the fifth month, Charles is healing slowly but surely. Erik has taken time off from work again to be with him as he starts responding to sounds and touches, even if his consciousness still lies just beneath the surface. His left hand reacts every now and then in Erik’s grasp, and the stitches on his face and head have faded into scars now. The breathing tube is gone. He’s looking much better than he did just a few weeks earlier.

The first time Charles properly wakes up, Erik isn’t there. He’s coming back from the hospital cafeteria when he spots the doctor in charge speedily making his way to the ICU. His heart drops to his stomach and he follows the clamor, sighting two nurses trying to restrain Charles to the bed as he struggles against them.

There are high animal sounds ripping themselves from Charles’ throat. Erik pushes one of the nurses away until he’s well into Charles’ line of sight, holding his hand.

“Charles, it’s me,” Erik’s eyes are prickling with tears again. “Charles, it’s me, it’s Erik, you’re alright, you’re alright.”

Charles makes another keening sound, and his eyes are the same impressionable blue Erik had fallen in love with all those years ago.

—

Charles is speaking now. Most of it is gibberish, and the doctors have told Erik it might take even more time for his brain to rewire itself properly. His prognosis is good, however, because he is responsive when he is awake, and he can even sometimes remember who his nurses are. They want to rehabilitate him in a center not far from their personal address, and Erik is all too willing, although he’s dreading having Charles sleep away from him again. First the hospital and now the center. Thankfully money isn’t an issue, so that’s one less thing to worry about.

On her first visit after Charles regained consciousness, Raven surprises them both with a framed picture of the family. Raven, Irene and Kurt are flanking Erik and Charles as they hold their newborn baby David, angled so that the camera catches sight of his chubby little cheeks.

Charles has enough movement in the left side of his body to tap his fingers against the glass of the frame. His right side is slightly paralyzed due to the position of the bullet that ripped through his head, so Erik always makes sure to stay at his left where he’s just an arm’s length away.

“De...Dev...Dav…” Charles slurs, his mouth quirking up.

“Yes, Charles, that’s David, that’s our baby boy,” Erik smiles with him, wrapping his arm around him and squeezing his shoulder. Charles’ eyes dart around the room, from corner to corner, bypassing Raven who’s now frowning at the both of them. His eyes flick to Erik’s in confusion, and then something _clicks_ as if the memory of the mere six years of their son’s life has finally slotted into place.

“D...Dav…eee...” Charles chokes out, his face reddening and his eyes filling with tears. Erik can do nothing but hold him and try to calm him down, but Charles’ grief knows no restraint, and his wails echo throughout the room.

—

The stress of his emotions triggers a seizure. One minute Erik is rocking Charles in his arms, the next, Charles' whole body is convulsing. He accidentally headbutts Erik under his chin, and Erik has to stagger back and leave him be on the bed. For a moment, he and Raven stare in horror as Charles flops like a fish on a hook, like he is possessed, until nurses flood into the room and settle Charles on his side. What’s worse than the sight is the sound, the shrill, primal screams Charles is letting out through a clenched jaw.

Erik feels useless and wracked with guilt. This is what he’s done. This is what he’s reduced the most brilliant man he’s known into: a fearful, perpetually confused man in constant pain.

“Erik, where are you going?” Raven asks, grabbing his wrist when he’s halfway out the door.

“I—fuck, I can’t take this anymore.” He can’t breathe, his chest physically hurts.

“What? No, don’t leave, Charles needs you the most now.”

“It’s my fault! I’m the reason he’s like this now. Just look at him!”

“No, Erik, of course it’s not your fault. Hey, come on.”

* * *

  

Choose:

>[Stay](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1970841/chapters/4270806)

>[Go](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1970841/chapters/4272474) 


	5. Stay

**> Stay**

* * *

 

Erik takes a deep breath and drags his hands through his face. Somehow he knows that Charles' agony will forever be imprinted on his mind, and that he'll do anything for it not to happen again. Raven rubs his back soothingly as she leads him out into the corridor.

“I have to make it up to him, somehow.”

“Your best is enough,” Raven says gently. “Just do what you can.”

—

The rehabilitation center is clean and cozy, with an excellent reputation and a high recovery rate from previous patients. Charles is apprehensive about the new environment. The only words that come out of his mouth that aren’t entirely inaccurate is “Erik”, “Raven” and “hurts”, but the speech therapist is optimistic that he can have Charles speaking full sentences by the end of the year.

Erik goes back to work, and it’s really only because his godson is Tony Stark that his prolonged absence is excused. As one of the company’s more senior physicists, he can’t just quit and tend to Charles like he wants, although he’s thought of it quite frequently.

Maybe when Charles is all better, they can vacation somewhere nice and tropical.

—

Rehabilitation is gruelling and tiring. Charles looks like he's tired and in pain half the time. He's had to relearn how to speak with the right side of his mouth slightly numb, and his once beautiful penmanship is all but devolved into an ungainly scrawl. The physical therapy is the most difficult to overcome. Charles was an academic—a stranger to physical labor save for toting genetic books around—and the first physio session had ended in literal tears. 

It's a natural part of the healing process, the doctor had explained to Erik. His memory's improving. There's a delay inside his brain that connects feelings to words so he might find expressing himself frustrating. He'll need his family's support if he's going to improve.

Nobody bothers Erik when he starts spending nights at the center in Charles' bed, tucking himself against Charles' front like he always has.

—

Almost a year later, they’re sitting in the garden when Charles reaches out and takes his hand. He’s smiling his crooked little smile, the left corner of his mouth lifting up much higher than his right. “Erik. Thank you for efferything,” he says, only slurring slightly.

Erik’s breath stutters. “I love you.”

“I l-l-loff you too,” Charles replies. “Loff you ferry much.” Erik cups his cheeks and laughs with joy, his grin as bright as the sunshine.

* * *

  

>[Proceed to epilogue](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1970841/chapters/4272126)


	6. Epilogue 2

**> Epilogue**

* * *

 

At sixty-five years old, Charles Xavier is practically ancient by his grandchildren’s standards. He and Erik have fostered a brood over the course of their marriage and adopted two sons and one daughter, and they’re all back here in the Westchester estate where they grew up in to celebrate Erik’s birthday.

Hank and Logan are manning the barbecue, exchanging doe eyes every now and then. Charles catches Erik making a face after a particularly long gaze.

“Hypocrite,” Charles laughs.

“We were never that disgusting in public.”

“Oh, you were, trust me,” Raven chimes in. Irene smirks beside her wife.

“It was one of the times I was actually glad to be blind.”

“How dare you,” Erik says in mock indignation. His veneer is shattered when Angel’s daughter comes crashing against his leg after being chased by Alex’s son.

“ _‘Buelo!_ ” She shrieks, reaching up towards him. “Up, up!”

“Hm? _Mande?_ ”

“ _Abuelooo,_ ” she whines. Erik grins and hefts her into his arms. “Ha!” she tells Scott, who is panting with his hands on his knees. “You can’t catch me!” She makes Erik put her down just as quickly, and before they know it, their grandchildren are darting off into the far corner of the yard.

Most of the kids are in the long table chatting and picking at fingerfood. There’s a lot of catching up to do, actually, even if Charles is always up to date with the appropriate social media. Sean is regaling everyone with fantastic tales from his tour as the lead of his rock band (Charles still cringes when he remembers Sean’s all-black teenage days). Alex’s wife is glowing from her pregnancy, and she and Angel are exchanging husband-woes, much to Charles’ amusement.

"May I add to this impressive list?" He asks, manoeuvring his wheelchair beside them. "You see, my husband likes to leave his socks lying around too. It's very annoying."

"Charles, I can hear you!"

"Nothing you don't already know, dearest!"

When it’s time to eat, Alex takes the time to stand up and raise his papercup of lemonade in toast to “the greatest dads I could ever ask for.”

“Chin chin,” Hank says.

“Happy birthday, Papi,” Angel grins. Everyone chimes in with their own birthday greetings, and cake is brought out.

“Thank you, everyone,” Erik says, and the table lapses into a slightly awkward lull as everyone looks on in anticipation of the candle blowing. “Oh, should I be kissing your father too?”

“No!” The kids shriek, but it’s too late, and Erik is already planting a firm kiss on Charles’ smiling mouth.

The picture Kurt sends them later is a happy, riotous one, a summary of lives well-lived.

* * *

 

>[Restart](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1970841/chapters/4265358)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abuelo = grandfather  
> Mande? = "come again?"


	7. Go

**> Go**

* * *

 

Erik takes a deep breath and drags his hands through his face. Raven rubs his back soothingly as she leads him out into the corridor.

“Why Charles,” Erik whispers. “Why me. First David, and now...it’s like someone’s out to get me.”

“Don’t think that. Irene says things always happen for a reason. God's will.”

“You believe in a cruel god, Raven.”

She sighs and rests her head against his shoulder. “And you don’t believe enough.”

—

He’s not the same man Erik fell in love with.

It’s so apparent to see in the first few days of rehab. He can barely walk, can barely talk or remember to feed himself. He has lapses of confusion. He remembers Erik as a fixed point, but Erik isn’t even sure if it’s because Charles is aware that he’s his husband or if it’s simply because Erik is the most familiar face since waking.

Erik can’t stand to touch him anymore. He’s gotten thin since the hospitalization, dropped almost a hundred pounds. He’s merely a shell that once housed the great spirit of Charles Xavier, and Erik can’t stand it.

After months of rehabilitation, Charles has attained the ability to speak, but he won’t talk to anyone. He’s showing signs of depression and lethargy, and Erik feels helpless but he’s also frustrated at it. He’s so angry all the time, at himself, at Charles. When Charles finally comes home as an outpatient, Erik expects the house to warm with his presence the way it’s always done. It doesn’t, in fact. The Charles that comes home with him is a stranger, a creature full of rage confined to his wheelchair. His caregiver is soft-spoken and patient, and Erik doesn’t realize that he’s using the man to perform the duties he should be doing as a spouse: caring for Charles, loving Charles, letting him now he’s not alone.

This is a disaster.

Very quietly, Erik quits his job, packs his bags and leaves, because he married a great man, and the one that is in their house wearing his skin is not his husband.

* * *

  
> [Proceed to epilogue](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1970841/chapters/4272555)


	8. Epilogue 3

> **Epilogue**

* * *

 Erik Lehnsherr keeps a drawer full of regret. Amid the angry letters from his sister-in-law and the pictures of his husband and child he can’t throw away, he stores with it a clipping of an obituary. Charles Xavier’s body may have only perished today, but Erik knows that he had already killed his husband the moment Erik texted him he would be late for their dinner date all those years ago.

* * *

 

> [Restart](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1970841/chapters/4265358)

 

**Author's Note:**

> [velvetcadence.tumblr.com](http://velvetcadence.tumblr.com/)


End file.
